Going through my mother’s scrap book full of pictures of my brother and me when we were younger, one particular picture caught my attention. It was taken at about mid-day in the middle of the street in my neighborhood, and my brother, grinning like the 8 year old he was, was sitting in his brand new go-kart. Upset that I wasn’t the one driving it, I am leaning against the side of the kart in an old Maverick’s jersey that looked about two sizes too big, a pair of cargo shorts, and a hand me down pair of Jordan’s. The attire wasn’t out of necessity, I had plenty of pink tank tops, and white shorts that I am sure my mother would have loved for me to don. But like many other aspects of life, I did what my brother did. He worn Jordan’s, I wore Jordan’s. He liked the Mavs, I liked the Mavs. I’m still not really sure when or why I made the decision to emulate his every move, but that’s one decision that I do not regret. He set the bar very high, getting straight A’s in school and excelling as a catcher for his travel ball team. It wasn’t that I blindly followed him, as a sheep follows its herd, I knew what he did and I made the decision that I wanted to do it too. Most of the time, I was trying to do it better. Having an older brother is one of the things I am most thankful for, had I not had a constant competitor I would have never risen to my full potential nor would have even half of the passion and love that I do for sports and athletics in general.